


What Maketh Man

by OrmondSacker



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Back Together, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: The Discovery have successfully made its journey 930 years into the future, but it did not arrive at its intended destination. Far worse, commander Burnham is nowhere to be found and the only message the distress signal from her suit.With a more than two week long journey by warp to her destination and Paul Stamets incapable of jumping due to his injuries, he, Hugh Culber, ensign Sylvia Tilly and doctor Tracy Pollard have to find a different way of using the spore drive. When it is found it may end up costing both him and Hugh more than they're willing to give.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda the s3e1 that I know will never be, but until then no one can prove this won't be canon.

The universe realigns itself around the Discovery as time and space normalizes and the blur caused by temporal distortion fades away. 

In the captain’s chair commander Saru breathes a silent sigh a relief. They had made it. 

But the space in front of them is utterly empty, no sign of Terralysium or commander Burnham. 

“Lieutenant Detmer, scan our surroundings,” he says. “See what you can find. Lieutenant Bryce, try to hail commander Burnham. Lieutenant Owosekun, find out the status of the ship.” 

His orders are met with a brief, “Aye sir,” from all three. 

Bryce is the first to report back. 

“Nothing from commander Burnham sir. In fact, I can’t find any signal from her suit. I’ll try to keep hailing her and bolster the signal strength. See if I can reach her.” 

“You may want to bolster it a lot, Bryce,” Detmer interjects. “There’s nothing on the scanners out there. No technology, no planets, no stars, no nothing within scanning range.” 

She looks back as Saru. 

“We’re in the middle of nowhere sir.” 

“I see. Thank you, lieutenants. Bryce please continue as you planned. Detmer, see if you can find out exactly where we are.” 

Clearly they had not reached their intended destination, unless somehow the whole solar system had disappeared in the intervening 930 years. Far more troubling was Michael’s abscense. How could they have been parted during the journey and where had she landed? Saru can only hope that space is all that separates them. 

Though his ganglia are but a memory, the recollection of the fear he would once have felt in this situation echoes through Saru’s body. But now is not the time for that. 

“Owosekun, ship’s status?” 

“Reports still coming in sir, but it seems like though we have taken heavy damage and have several hull breaches that needs patching up, all essential systems are operational. Including engines. Weapons are also functional but our shields are in tatters.” 

“Spore drive?” 

“Operational, but commander Stamets appear to be missing.” 

“Um, no,” comes Tilly’s voice softly to his left. “Commander Stamets is in sickbay. Lieutenant Nilsson and I helped him there. He got hurt pretty badly on the way to shuttle bay with the suit.” 

“Do you know how he’s doing?” Saru asks. 

Tilly shakes her head. 

“I had to leave him there to come back here.” 

“Very well.” 

“Sir,” Detmer interrupts. “I think I have a location for us, but if I’m right we’re nearly 500 light years from our intended destination.” 

“Well, I suppose it could be worse. Travelling through time is hardly an exact science. Thank you, lieutenant Detmer.” 

“Captain? I think I have located a signal from commander Burnham. It's coming from Terralysium,” Bryce says, sounding worried. 

“That would be good, lieutenant, wouldn't it?” 

“Well sir, what I’m getting is her suit's distress call.” 

** oOoOo **

The Discovery's engine has stopped their high-pitched whines that made all of sickbay vibrate and the odd spacial distortion that Hugh could only assume was some sort of time distillation from going through the rift have abated, leaving sickbay back to its normal self. Apart of course, from the very high number of wounded crew members currently occupying the beds. But the numbers of wounded arriving have all but stopped and those coming in have only minor injuries, so his conclusion is that they have safely got away from Control to… wherever, whenever, they are now. 

Tracy is sitting down inside the office after the rest of the medical staff all but ordered her to do that. They had all been on their feet far too long, treating too many patients far too quickly, but Tracy had been the one nominally in charge after the CMO decided to stay on board the Enterprise and Hugh, though having anciennity, had only come back on board at the proverbial last minute. 

Everyone else are checking on patients, mending those minor injuries still coming in, and generally tending to the duties of any Starfleet medical staff might. No indication that they're light years and centuries separated from their homes. 

As for Hugh, he’s engaged in disinfecting the wounds of an Andorian ensign. Before that he was ministering to a lieutenant from engineering who’d had a console blow up right in front of them, though they had miraculously only gotten nicked by the resulting flying debris. 

All the while he works, he never strays far from Paul’s side. Not that sickbay is big, but he’s never more than three steps away. 

Sending the Andorian on her way he looks about for the next in line, only to find Tracy Pollard standing next to him. 

“Don’t you think it is time you had a break?” she says. 

“I thought we all agreed that it was time _ you _had one,” Hugh counters gently. 

“I’ve had mine and you all have been working as hard as I have.” 

“I can wait a bit, one of the others can go before me.” 

Tracy gives him a long, hard look. 

“You know, putting off waking him isn’t going to make things any easier. And it isn’t good for him to be in a coma any longer than he needs to be.” 

“I know.” 

“I can bring him out if you want me to, if you don’t want to talk to him.” 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. We _ need _ to talk.” 

He isn’t sure how much, if any, of what he said Paul heard, or will recall once he wakes, but either way they most certainly need to talk. 

“Then I suggest you bring him out of the coma and then have your break. Use it for what you need to.” 

Hugh nods. 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Tracy pats him on the arm before heading to the other end of sickbay to give him and Paul what room is possible. 

Hugh takes a deep breath, pciks up one of the hyposprays and adjust the content to counteract the sedative he gave Paul earlier. Placing it against Paul’s neck he gently depresses the plunger. 

Cupping Paul’s head he runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Time to wake up Paul. Time for you to come back to me.” 

** oOoOo **

The last thing Paul recalls with any clarity is being thrown against the bulkhead, a searing pain in his chest and his frantic scramble to complete the Red Angel suit. The rest - being half carried along the corridors, the chaos of sickbay, Hugh - is a blur of disconnected images and sensations, filtered through a haze of pain and blood loss. That last, hazy memory, of Hugh leaning over him, talking to him, was certainly a hallucination brought on by the trauma. Though one Paul was grateful for. If he was going to die at least he would die hearing the voice of the man he still loved, would always love. 

And then there was nothing. 

Until there was something again. 

Slowly he becomes aware again of his body, of arms and legs that feel so heavy. But the pain in his chest is only a faint echo now. 

So he didn’t die? He feels almost regretful; it would have solved his problems. 

He can almost hear the indignant scolding Hugh would give him if he ever learned of Paul’s thoughts, to him life was always too precious to throw away no matter what. 

As his awareness continues to increase, he notices the hand caressing his hair, a familiar feeling, and an equally familiar voice talking to him, though he cannot yet make sense of the words. 

He tries to move, but can’t get his limbs to comply. All of his body feels like it is made of lead. An attempt to voice his discontent results only in a low-pitched whine. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe.” 

Oh, now the voice makes sense. That’s something. 

“You won’t be able to move for another couple of minutes. It’s normal, it’ll wear off. Just be patient. I’ll stay with you all the way through it. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Hughs voice? But Hugh had been an illusion. Hadn’t he? 

He tries to open his eyes though his eyelids feel as leaden as the rest of him. On the fourth attempt he succeeds. 

A blurry but familiar face comes into view, wearing that soft, heartfelt smile he knows so well. 

“You’re hopeless you know that?” Hugh says fondly. “You never could wait for your body to keep up with the rest of you. But I’m afraid that this time you’ll have to, at least for a while. You were hurt pretty badly.” 

Paul licks his lips, they and his mouth feels very dry. 

“I’ll give you something to drink once you’re a bit more coordinated,” Hugh says. 

“Hugh?” Paul manages to say, through some miracle. 

“Yes, it’s me.” 

“How?” 

“I stayed. Do you remember any of what I told you when you came in?” 

Paul thinks back. Though everything of that is hazy Hugh’s voice alone, his words, are clear in Paul’s mind. 

“Yes.” 

Hugh’s eyes shine with tears. 

“I meant it, every word of it. You are my home. I want to stay with you, even a thousand years into the future.” 

Paul can feel tears well up in his own eyes, his throat tightening. Desperately he tries to raise an arm so he can hold Hugh close, but all he can manage is a jerk of his body. Frustrated he grunts. 

“Shhh, you’ll be able to move soon. Just give it a little time.” 

“Want, hug you,” Paul says. 

“Of course,” Hugh answers with a smile and leans down, wrapping his arms around Paul, lifting him slightly off the bed. 

The feeling of Hugh’s arms around him, the solidity of his chest against Paul’s own, the soft scratching of his beard against his cheek, make the tears he has been holding back for so long, finally spill over. 

He manages somehow to raise one hand and clutch at Hugh’s jacket as he buries his face in the crook of his neck. 

“It’s okay Paul,” Hugh whispers into his ear before pulling back just enough that Paul can see his face. He too it crying, though his smile remains. “We’ll be okay. It’ll take time, but we will be.” Then Hugh hugs him tightly once more and doesn’t let go for a good long while. 

But they can’t hold on forever and finally Hugh sits back with a sigh after having gently lowered Paul back down on the bed. 

“How do you feel,” Hugh asks him. 

“Better. I think I can move now,” Paul answers, testing by flexing his fingers and toes. That works as it should. 

“How about your chest? Any pain?” 

“A little. It’s sore not sharp, like a bruise on the second day.” 

Hugh nods. 

“I’ll just do some scans of you and then you should get some rest. You need it and I need to get back to work. But I won’t be far.” 

Paul studies Hugh as he uses the tricorder. It’s only now he notices the blood streaks on Hugh’s uniform and how drawn and tight his face is. He must be exhausted. Paul casts a look around sickbay, it’s fuller than he’s ever seen, over its capacity. They really went through hell to get here, wherever it is they are. Since there’s no alert the danger must be past and presumably they’ve arrived at their destination. Idly he wishes he knew more details, but it is no more than a stray thought. He’s too tired for more and Hugh’s here, that all the certainty he needs at this moment. 

“So, what’s the verdict? Will live?” he quips when Hugh puts down the tricorder. 

Hugh shoots him an angry glance. 

“That wasn’t funny,” he says sharply. 

Damn, stupid joke to make at this moment. 

“You’re right, it wasn’t. I’m sorry, that was inconsiderate.” 

Hugh sighs and shakes his head. 

“Though I suppose your returned ability to make completely terrible jokes mean you’re recovering.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and takes Paul’s hand, his face serious. “Paul I-” Breaking off he takes a long, shuddering breath. 

Paul struggles to sit, wanting to hug him, tell him again that he’s sorry but Hugh puts his free hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. 

“Don’t. Paul you’re still... well, you’re fragile. Modern medicine can only fix so much, your body needs time to recover on its own too. You need to take things easy. Everything strenuous is off the table. I know how much you hate sitting and doing nothing, but for the next couple of weeks that’s what you’ll need to do. Unless you want to undo all my hard work.” Hugh swallows hard. “You came this close to dying, Paul.” 

“No. No I don’t want to undo your work.” He squeezes Hugh’s hand, raising his other to caress Hugh’s cheek. “It was a very stupid joke. I’ll behave. Promise.” 

Hugh lets out a slow, shuddering breath. 

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Hugh says, bending down and kissing Paul on the forehead. “We’ll talk more later, but for now get some rest. And if you need anything just call out. I’ll be right over there.” 

Paul lets go of him with a soft sigh, watching as Hugh returns to his job before closing his eyes to doze. He really is very tired. 


	2. Chapter 2

Tilly has to take two steps for each one commander Saru takes as they walk towards sickbay. He had commanded her to follow him down there to check on commander Stamets, badgering her all the way with questions about his condition that she had no answer to and it had done nothing to alleviate her anxiety about his state. He had looked so bad when she and Nilsson had taken him there, she can only hope they got him there quickly enough. 

Sickbay itself is so full with injured people, she’s never seen so choked. Not even during the war. 

Commander Stamets is lying on one of the biobeds near the entrance. He has a fresh, clean undershirt on, but the same torn trousers and scuffed boots she brought him here in. His eyes are closed and his slow, rhythmic breathing indicates that he is sleeping. 

Doctor Culber steps up to them. His demeanor is professional but his face is lined with exhaustion. 

“Commander, what brings you down here?” he asks Saru. 

Saru gazes at the sleeping Stamets. 

“I wish to inquire about commander Stamets’ condition.” 

“He’s responding well to treatment and am resting. But his injuries were very severe, it’ll be a while before he’s back to full health.” 

“What would this mean in the context of him utilizing the spore drive.” 

“Out of the question. In his current condition he’d die if he tried. It would be murder, pure and simple.” 

“That sounds rather dramatic.” 

“I’m trying to emphasize the fragility of his condition, but I assure you it is not an exaggeration.” 

Saru acknowledges the words with a tilt of his head. 

“Very well, when do you think will commander Stamets be up to navigating again?” 

There’s a small grunt from Stamets on the biobed. 

“I’m right here, you know. You could talk to me, the injury did not affect my hearing. Or my ability to speak.” 

“More’s the pity,” Culber says. “You are also a patient under my care right now. And you’re supposed to be resting.” 

“Small chance of that in this chatter.” 

Stamets struggles to sit, but Culber puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. 

“Resting. Remember?” 

Tilly's gaze flickers back and forth between the two as she tries very hard not to squirm. She knew dr Culber was on board but she had given no thought to how he and commander Stamets might react to each other when in close proximity. 

“Um, maybe there's another way?” she says, mostly to say something, anything, to break the tension. 

“What do you mean, ensign?” Saru asks her. 

Her heart begins to race and her palms turn clammy. 

“Um. I- Well- I mean, after commander Stamets injected himself with the tardigrade DNA we stopped looking at alternatives for using the spore drive, as per captain Lorca's orders. And then the drive was supposed to be decommissioned after the war until another solution could be found, but then the whole thing with the Red Angel happened and we didn't have time. But what if we tried again? Or, commander Stamets did?” 

“An interesting suggestion, ensign,” Saru says slowly, clearly pondering. “Would it be medically advisable to permit commander Stamets to do this?” 

“I'm still sitting right here,” Stamets grouches, but now he sounds subdued. 

“Indeed Commander. But for this I need a medical opinion, not that of an astromycologist,” Saru says before returning his attention to Culber. 

Culber nods slowly. 

“Maybe. Though with some conditions. Commander Stamets will be confined to reading and writing only, anything practical will have to be carried out by someone else. Furthermore, he will have to agree to get sufficient rest and food, no matter how carried away he may wish to get with his research.” 

Culber says the last sentence as he locks eyes with Stamets. Stamets rolls his eyes but remains quiet. 

“Do you accept those conditions, Commander?” Saru asks. 

Stamets sighs. 

“Doesn't look like I have much choice in the matter.” 

Saru nods. 

“Do you have any specific staff requests?” 

“Right now I'm not even sure what could be tested. Just get me my notes and I'll get back to you on your question.” 

If Saru notices Stamets’ curt tone he makes no comment of it. Instead he addresses Tilly, “Ensign, if you would fetch the commander what he needs?” 

“Oh. Of course.” She looks to Stamets. “What do you need, sir?” 

“Just get me my notes. Some of them are in Engineering, the rest in my room. It's the blue and green datacards.” 

With an enthusiastic nod she rushes out of sickbay, happy to be useful and away from the tension between the two men. 

** oOoOo **

Saru takes his leave right after Tilly hurries out, leaving Hugh and Paul alone with each other. As alone as someone can be in a sickbay filled with people. 

Hugh can feel a pit of worry about Burnham settle in his stomach. She hadn’t quite become a friend before he died, though they had been heading there. He hadn’t had much opportunity to pick up that relationship after he returned, she had had her own concerns and he had had his, but when he decided to stay on board the Discovery on its journey into the future he had resolved to talk to her once they made it through. Now he may never get that chance. 

This was not how things were supposed to go. But then, when has anything gone the way he thought it would lately. 

He looks down on Paul who’s staring straight ahead, his lips pinched together and his eyebrows drawn down in a worried V. Hugh knows that he and Burnham had grown closer while he was dead, in part through Tilly and in part through their work, and he knows how much Paul hates being helpless. Both must be killing him about now. 

“Paul, I'm sorry-“ Hugh start wanting to say something to help him, but Paul cuts him off. 

“Don't.” 

“Don't what?” 

“Don't apologize for doing your job. For trying to keep me alive. I'm sorry I bit at you; I just wish there was something I could _ do _.” 

Hugh sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“Maybe you'll find something?” 

“You really think that?” Paul says, the line of his lips growing even thinner. “Like Straal and I didn't work on that for so long and the tardigrade and its DNA proved to be the crucial component in connecting to the network. Because we need some way of talking to the network directly, only the tardigrade is able to do that. Or someone with its DNA and there is only me who has that.” 

“Paul, whatever happened to the basic principle of science, ‘never assume?’ Yes the tardigrade had a connection with the network that lets it talk to it. But that doesn't mean that no one or nothing else does. Find that another form of connection.” 

Paul smiles weakly, taking Hugh’s hand and tangling their fingers. 

“You're right. As usual. I'm being stroppy because things aren't the way I want them to be. Makes me wonder why you fell in love with me.” 

“Because I saw a man who, when he saw things that needed fixing, would stop at nothing to fix them. Who was so passionate about it. So passionate in fact that he sometimes forgot to look after himself.” 

Paul smiles sheepishly. 

“And sometimes I forgot to look after you too, didn't I?” 

“Paul.” 

“Don’t coddle me just because I’m injured. If we’re going to try again and make it work? We need to talk,” Paul says, squeezing Hugh’s hand. 

Hugh smiles, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. 

“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d be the one to start that conversation.” 

Paul shrugs. 

“I had a lot of time to think. Not just after- after we broke up, but while you were dead too.” 

Tears form in his eyes as he speaks and Hugh can feel his own throat tighten as well. 

“There were so many things I wanted to do different if I had the chance. Things you deserve but never got from me. And- I need to know what you want, what you need.” 

Hugh nods, unable to find his voice in that moment. 

“But we’re not talking about it here, now, in sickbay, with a ton of other people around,” he says after he finds it again as he runs his hand over Paul’s hair. “I’ll make you a deal. If you promise to get enough rest and to eat regularly, I’ll discharge you to your quarters. Being stressed isn’t good for recovery and I know how much you hate being in sickbay. Then you can read in private too. But I need you to keep that promise or I’ll drag you straight back here. _ I _ will promise _ you _ that.” 

Paul nods. 

“Though I should probably have a doctor come by and check on me regularly,” he quips. 

Hugh laughs softly. 

“That was the plan. Then we can talk.” 

“Agreed.” 

“Commander, I think I found everything- Oh, sorry,” Tilly says as she rushes in and sees them there, holding hnds.. “I’ll just, um.” 

“It’s okay, ensign,” Hugh says, getting to his feet. “I need to get back to my other patients. I’ll leave you and Paul to it. Just don’t wear him out. And don’t let him wear you out.” 

Smiling at her flustered attempt at agreeing, while looking back and forth between him and Paul, Hugh turns and walks away. So much for his half-formed idea of keeping his and Paul’s relationship just between them for now. 

Ah well, could be worse. And on a ship this small the news would have been all over in no time anyway. 

** oOoOo **

Paul engrosses himself in his notes, sending Tilly back to the bridge. There’s nothing she can do at this stage and her ill-disguised attempts of trying to get information about him and Hugh out of him was getting on his nerves. 

He can’t entirely blame her. He’s been miserable, closed lipped and out of sorts these past weeks ever since their break up and Tilly’s close assistance to his work had meant that she had had front row seats for that show. Of course seeing the two of them on such intimate footing again would arouse question from her. 

But that will have to wait. For now all that matters is finding a way to use the spore drive, to communicate with the network, so they can get to Michael before it’s too late. 

Reading is harder than normal though. The text keeps skittering away on the screen, his mind losing its train of thought, derailing into thoughts about Hugh, worry about Michael and her condition, a beginning, niggling grief over the loss of... his entire life, everyone he knew that isn’t on board this ship. And exhaustion. 

Weariness nips at the corners of his attention, dragging at it down. At first he pushes back, as he always would, trying to persevere in the face of it. There is an answer in there, somewhere, there has to be. And can find it if only, if only- 

Then he recalls his promise to Hugh, to let himself get the rest that he so sorely needs. 

With a frustrated grimace he lets the padd drop down on his lap and closes his eyes, but his thoughts refuses to stop their constant whirl. 

How can they talk to the network? Make it understand what it needs to do? He is obviously out. Finding another tardigrade and somehow manage to communicate with it to convince it to talk to the network would take more time than to get to Terralysium by warp. Computer algorithm he’d tried and tried again with little success before Straal discovered what Ripper could do. 

It made it seem that the spore drive can only work with a living navigator. 

Perhaps it is something about the network’s own nature. It was made up of life and death. Maybe something that wasn’t truly alive, such as a computer algorithm, couldn’t talk to it properly. 

Could another living being? Did it have to be someone with at least part tardigrade in them? Would an update to the interface make it possible for anyone to do it? If they could learn the language that is. 

Paul recalls the complex, confusing network laid out before him every time he entered. Stunningly beautiful and utterly overwhelming. Without the advantage of the tardigrade’s ability to comprehend the network and its structure, to perceive it in a manner that made sense, what would happen to someone who tried? 

He shudders at the thought of someone getting lost permanently in there. He nearly had once, would not have made it out if not for Hugh. Would someone who didn’t have his genetic advantage be able to handle the overload of information and sensory input? 

Yet the thought keeps niggling. There’s something in that, something important, but it skitters away, hides just beyond the reach of his increasingly sluggish thoughts. 

Oh it is useless, his mind is too stuffed with wool. 

Pushing his thoughts away he laboriously rolls over on his side and opens his eyes so he can look at Hugh. 

Hugh is standing with his back turned, absorbed in something on his padd. Paul's breath catches in his throat and his chest feels tight at the thought of what all that Hugh had said, the possibility that maybe there is a second chance for them, if he’s willing to risk it, to take the chance? 

And how can he not? 

Of all the men Paul has known and loved in his life, Hugh is the one who’s mattered to him most, the one he could see himself grow old and grey with, wanted to grow old and grey with. And maybe now they will. So much is still uncertain, so many things that needs to be said, wounds that needs healing, fractures that needs mending. But there is hope. 

So in spite of everything, Paul smiles as he slowly drifts off into sleep. 

An indeterminate amount of time later he wakes, the warm, safe feeling of a hand on his arm. Blinking he opens his eyes and looks up at Hugh. 

“Do you feel ready to go home?” Hugh asks him. 

“Oh am I ever!” 


	3. Chapter 3

The walk to Paul’s cabin is filled with awkward silence. Neither knows how to act, what to say or if to say anything at all. 

When they arrive, they both stand outside the door looking uncertainly at each other. 

“I thought-” Hugh begins at the same time as Paul says, “Do you want-” 

Half embarrassed chuckles follow. 

“Do you want to come in?” Paul asks once the chuckles subside. 

“Yes.” 

They step through the door and Paul drops his armload of datacards and padd onto the coffee table before turning around to face Hugh. 

“So um, this is how it looks now,” Paul says. 

Hugh looks around, trying not to stare. Seeing the room without his things in it makes it look oddly bear. 

“I was thinking that maybe we could talk a little, but you’ve been on your feet how many hours now? Maybe you should get some rest too,” Paul says as he sits down on the couch. 

He looks paler than usual, he’s definitely not well, and Hugh considers pushing all of it, everything, until a later time. It would be so easy, to just let things go again, but that’s how they ended up in this mess in the first place. He can’t expect Paul to read his thoughts. 

“I’m tired yes,” Hugh says. “But I’m also hungry. I was thinking that, maybe we could have dinner together and talk a little? Not everything, that’s too large a topic to cover all at once. But begin to talk?” 

“Are you sure? It’s been a long day and our conversation isn’t going anywhere.” 

Paul’s gaze flicks downwards towards the datacards. Hugh doesn’t need telepathic abilities to know that he’s itching to get back to work. 

For a moment Hugh stands undecided. His irritation is rising, but it is warring with worry about Burnham and concern for Paul and a concern for the whole ship's safety. Without a way to operate the spore drive they would all be at risk if anything they met turned out to be hostile. Before his death the other concerns would have won with little argument from him but he is tired of always putting himself last. 

“Paul, if _ we _ are going to work, if we’re going to try at all, I need you to stop thinking that you’re always the one who has to save the day. We have a ship full of competent people, and commander Burnham is very resourceful, don’t underestimate her ability to manage until we can reach her.” 

“You don’t know what kind of situation-” 

“And neither do you. But Paul, there’s always going to be some sort of emergency that will need attention. Something ‘important’ for you to deal with. You need to decide what really is important to you. I’m worried about her too, but you need rest and food, and so do I. And we need to talk. You have to learn to compromise.” 

He sees Paul flinch at his words and it almost makes his resolve break. 

“You’re right,” Paul says, looking down on his hands that he holds clasped in front of him. “You’re very right. And... I am hungry,” he finishes, looking back up at Hugh. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep my promise of taking care of myself.” He arduously pushes himself back to his feet. “And you are important to me. We are.” 

He reaches out and takes Hugh’s hands in his. 

“Should we get someone to get us something or...” Paul says. 

“I thought I could do that,” Hugh answers. “Everyone else has their hands full, or just as tired and hungry as we are. And I’m still ambulatory.” 

Paul nods. 

“You do that. I’ll stay here and-” 

“Rest.” 

“Rest.” 

** oOoOo **

Paul has changed into more comfortable off-duty clothes by the time Hugh returns with the food. He has also put out a pair of lit candles on the coffee table, candles Hugh side-eyes when he steps back into the room, a tray of food in his hands. 

“I said rest,” he says as he puts down the tray on the table before sitting down on the couch next to Paul. 

“What? Putting out and lighting two candles can hardly be called overexerting myself.” 

Hugh eyeballs him, then shakes his head. 

“Just don’t overdo it,” he says. 

“I won’t. Promise. I just... wanted to make it a bit nice. You deserve nice things.” 

Hugh looks flustered at that, grabbing one of the bowls of soup and taking a mouthful. 

Paul wants nothing more than to reach out and run his hand over Hugh’s shoulder, console him, apologize again for far too often ignoring what Hugh needed but something holds him back, there is a fragility to not just them but Hugh that makes him hesitant, uncertain of pushing too far too fast. And he isn't sure if it is what Hugh needs right now, isn't at all sure what it is Hugh needs. 

Maybe they should tackle that topic straight off, get it out of the way. 

Leaving soup to be soup he Paul looks at Hugh. 

“Hugh, what do you need from me?” 

“That’s a big topic,” Hugh answers still holding his bowl, almost as a shield. 

“Okay, what do you need most? Right now?” 

With deliberation Hugh puts his soup bowl down on the table and licks his lips before answering. 

“I think, what I need most is for you to listen to me. To not try to solve my problems because most of them you can’t solve, but just listen. Try to hear what I’m saying. And I need you to prioritize us. I know that we won’t always come first, that’s the nature of any relationship and certainly one like ours, we both have our duties to carry out. But I need you to make time and space for the two of us.” 

Paul nods slowly. 

“I intend to,” he says, swallowing hard. “You know, when you died? It was something I desperately wished I had done more often, made the time for just us? But you know what they say, you don't know how good a thing you have until it's gone.” 

“I think this is the first time I've heard you talk about my death.” 

Paul shrugs. 

“It hurts, even now with you sitting here it hurts just to think about it.” 

Hugh reaches out and puts a hand on Paul's arm and Paul immediately puts his own on top or it, not wanting him to pull away. 

“What do you need?” Hugh asks him. 

“Hope. To know that there is a chance, for us.” 

“There is.” Hugh looks at him. “Ah, dammit. Come here,” he says reaching out and wrapping his arms around Paul. 

They cling to each other. Paul can feel how Hugh is trembling slightly, or maybe it’s himself. Or maybe both of them. His own hands clutch at Hugh and Hugh’s face is buried at Paul’s neck. Then the moment passes and awkwardly they let go of each other. 

“Soup’s getting cold,” Paul says inanely, hearing how idiotic and mundane it sounds as he says it. 

Hugh smiles wanly. 

“It is. Better eat it then.” 

At least Hugh can match him for inanity. 

They eat in silence as Paul struggles how to continue the conversation, which topic to broach next. 

“We don't have to go through every single difficult topic tonight, you know,” Hugh says quietly. “We can just enjoy each others company. I meant this as a start, we have time.” 

Hugh's words make something soft and warm surge in Paul's chest. 

“I guess I just… want to make things perfect for you.” 

Hugh smiles bemused and shakes his head. 

“That's not what life is like. Life is… complicated. That's why I love it so much, even when it's hard.” 

Paul feels an overwhelming surge of affection for this wonderful man sitting next to him. 

“Paul, you're smiling like an idiot, what is it?” 

“I love you.” 

The crow's feet at the corners of Hugh's eyes deepen along with his smile and Paul feels an overwhelming urge to be close to him, touch him. 

“Hugh can I kiss you? Or is that too soon?” 

The smile grows even deeper and softer. 

“You can kiss me.” 

Paul takes Hugh's face in his hands, feeling the beard beneath his palms, the familiarity making his heart beat faster and his heart clench, and softly he presses his lips against Hugh's. 

Oh how Paul has missed those lips, their soft welcome and warmth. And the beard so silky soft and bristly all at once. And Hugh, just Hugh, the feel and smell and sound of him. He can taste wetness and salt on the kiss and he thinks he might be crying but then he hears and feels the chocked gasp from Hugh and realizes that it's him. Breaking away but still cupping Hugh's face Paul gives him a questioning look. 

“What's wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing. Please don't stop.” 

Smiling tenderly Paul kisses him again. 

When they finally break apart again both their breaths are shuddering and while Hugh has stopped crying the traces of tears are still on his face. Paul wipes them away with his thumbs, blinking away the tears that have gathered in his own eyes. 

“I intended to wait with kissing you until… well until things were a bit more certain, after we had had some time to rebuild. But you just looked so...” he says. 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Hugh responds before giving Paul a small peck on the cheek before pulling out of his grasp. “Well the soup has gone cold now,” he finishes. 

“Suppose we better finish it anyway.” 

They eat in silence and when they’re done Hugh clears the table. 

“I’m going to get some rest, I’m just about done in and I suggest that-” 

“I do the same?” Paul says with a soft laugh. 

“Yes." 

“I think that’s a good plan, I’m wiped as well. I won’t get anything done as tired as I am.” 

Hugh nods, leans down and kisses Paul’s forehead. 

“Sweet dreams then,” he says. 

“You too.” 

** oOoOo **

As Hugh carries the tray back to the mess his heart is beating fast in his chest. He still hasn’t fully calmed down from the kiss, not the first, the second or the forehead one. They had felt different, Paul had felt different, from what Hugh remembers. He can’t articulate if the difference was something missing, added, or just if the sensations themselves had changed, but there had been a difference. But that didn’t mean it had been bad. It had made his heart race the way it used to, the softness with which Paul always touched him as present as ever and as always it had made him feel treasured. 

The whole thing had gone better than he’d even dare hope. Paul was willing to talk and not just talk, but listen too. When he had decided to stay on board the Discovery, he had not at all been sure how things would turn out, only what he wanted, but tonight have given him hope that things will go well between the two of them. 

After having disposed of tray and content he heads back to his own cabin. Now, without any distractions and the excitement of the not-actually-a-date fading he begins to feel his exhaustion in full, and when he reaches his cabin it is all he can do to just strip off his uniform and fall onto the bed. He’s asleep almost before his head touches the pillow. 

** oOoOo **

Dazed and muddled, heart racing in his chest, Paul comes awake, traces of a nightmare still lingering. He rolls over on his back and stares up into the dark, trying to calm down his breath and heart to something akin the normal rate. 

The dream had been a bizarre mix of Michael, Hugh, the network, the JahSepp and... what was the final thing? Oh yes, of course. Lorca. He had been a staple in his nightmares since Paul came out of his coma, but this time the man had played only a tangential role. 

Paul recalls chasing through the network after someone, never knowing quite who or what it was he was chasing. Maybe Michael, maybe Hugh. He had heard both their voices calling to him, frantic, screaming for his help, but he himself had been hopelessly lost. 

Looking at the bedside clock and seeing that it’s 05:42 he decides he might as well try to get up. He still feels drained, but his mind won’t stop running in circles and the fear of the dream doesn’t feel like it is going to fade any time soon. 

Maybe a shower will help and then he can lie down on the couch and read. 

The shower drains most of what energy he has and once he’s back in the living room he abandons the half-formed idea he had of maybe going to get himself some coffee. Instead he just drops down on the couch and flops down on his back. Lazily he picks up the datapadd and looks at his notes from yesterday. 

_ Network. Communication. Connection. Alternative to DNA? Alternate species? How does the network talk? _

Staring at the screen he sighs feeling hopeless. 

Finding another species that could communicate with the network in the fashion needed would easily take longer than finding a different path altogether. If such a species even existed. 

_ What else was there? _

A thought bubbles up from his subconscious, spurred by his dream. 

_ The __Jahsepp? __Maybe they could help? _

No, that wouldn’t work. They were inside the network and right now the problem was that they had no access. 

Might have worked though. May’s weird pod transporter made it clear there they had some way of bridging the gap between this world and the network. If only they still had had that he might have been able to use it to talk to them, or the network, or something. Unfortunately, it was gone having been used up creating Hugh’s new body. 

His thoughts stumbles, stops and freezes in place. 

_ D__oes __that mean-? Was it possible that-? _

Paul finds that he can’t finish either thought, a sudden hard knot forming in his stomach. 

Hugh has been through so much, last night Paul could see how much he’s still struggling. He’s holding himself together, hopefully getting better, but he had seen how fragile Hugh still is in some ways. How hard he’s fighting to put his life and himself back together. How can he put this on him? Inform him that he, once again, might not be who and what he thinks he is? That the network might have done something to him when it remade him, given him the ability to talk to it. An ability he never asked for. 

But how can he not? Michael is out there, lost and in need of aid, possibly hurt. He can’t abandon her. 

What if this is all just a mad thought? Maybe there’s nothing to it? Maybe whatever enabled the pod transporter to talk to the network and the network to talk to it was consumed, erased, when it made Hugh? Leaving him a normal human being. 

Can he tell Hugh all of this, put more doubts and worries on him, when it might turn out to be nothing? 

Maybe he could investigate this without telling Hugh about it? 

No, that would be dishonest. And if it turns out he’s right then he’d have to tell Hugh and explain that he’d gone behind his back. Hugh would never forgive for him that. He wouldn’t forgive himself either. 

Paul scrubs his hands across his face. 

They hadn’t agreed that Hugh would show up here for breakfast but Paul thinks he might, which means he’ll be there very soon. 

What is he going to tell Hugh when he sees him? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to let everyone who has commented know that while I am terrible at replying to them I read and treasure every one of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Hugh wakes up with a smile on his lips, the happiness he felt last night lingering in his mind and heart. 

After he has showered and dressed, he heads off to the mess to pick up breakfast. Paul should be recovered enough to make it to the mess and back without getting exhausted in a few days, but until then Hugh intends to bring him his meals. It’s as good a way as any to make certain he eats. 

While Paul is a man who keeps his promises, Hugh knows ow easily he gets carried away when her works, so having an innocuous way of checking on him is good. And it has the added bonus of ensuring they have a little time together each day. 

Balancing the tray on one arm he walks while munching a piece of toast. He won’t have time to stay long, the colleagues who volunteered to take the night’s shift will be anxious to be relieved of duty and get some rest so he’ll eat as he walks. 

He’s humming to himself as he sounds the door buzzer. 

There’s no immediate reply and a sudden stab of fear shoots through him. 

Maybe Paul got worse while he was alone. He should never have discharged him, not when he had to stay by himself. Or he should have stay, or insisted Paul stay with him, even if it felt too early. 

No, it’s illogical. If Paul had taken a turn for the worse, he’d have called for help, or the computer would. Maybe he’s in the shower and can’t hear? Or maybe he’s sleeping in? 

Perhaps it would be better to leave, come back later with the food? But then Paul might get hungry? 

He hits the door buzzer again, hoping that Paul might hear him the second time but still there’s no response. 

Hugh bites his lip. 

Should he try to get in? Medical override would be overkill but perhaps Paul didn’t change the admission permissions after Hugh moved out. 

As he stand there weighing his options the door slides open revealing Paul, but the sight of him does nothing to make Hugh’s worries disappear. He looks pale and wan, and he’s wearing the expression he always does when something is very wrong but he’s trying to pretend nothing’s wrong. 

“Paul, what happened? Has there been bad news about commander Burnham?” 

That feels like the most logical option to Hugh. If there’s been news that she had been badly injured or god forbid have died, Paul would blame himself endlessly though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. 

Paul takes a deep breath. 

“No. No, not that I’ve heard. You, um, you better come in,” he says, stepping aside, waving Hugh through the door. 

Hugh steps inside, puts the tray down on the coffee table and turns back to Paul. 

“What is it then?” 

Has Paul had second thoughts? About them? Is that why he’s looking like that? 

Hugh nervously licks his lips and he begins to feel almost queasy when Paul takes his hand and guides him to sit down on the couch. 

“I... barely know how to begin,” Paul says. 

He picks up the datapadd only to immediately put it down again, then looks down on his hands that lies clasped on his knees. 

“I think I may have found a possible navigator for the sporedrive. Or at least a line of inquiry that should be investigated.” 

Paul’s words comes out in a jumbled rush that it takes a moment for Hugh to make sense of. 

“Who?” 

Paul keeps his gaze firmly on his hands. 

“You,” he says softly. 

For a second Hugh stares at him in baffled silence. 

“Me? Why do you think I might be able to?” 

“Because- Because your current body was recreated using a transporter pod that could transport people back and forth from the network. A transporter made by a Jahsepp. Of a Jahsepp. I’m not quite sure what happened or how it did. That’s how May, remember May, kidnapped Tilly.” 

“Yes I remember her,” Hugh answers coolly. “It’s a bit hard to forget someone who wanted to kill you.” 

He can, logically, understand why she hated him. In her place he might feel similarly. And when he had discovered what he was doing to her people, unintentionally as it had been, he had known he couldn’t continue that way. Not even if it cost him the half shadow life which was all he’d had left. But however much he can sympathize with her and her position it is hard not to take someone wanting you dead personally. 

“I assume that was also part of how she succeeded in... recreating your physical form,” Paul goes on. 

“What do you mean?” 

“That she, that the Jahsepp, I’m not sure, could turn the pod into something. By talking to it I mean. In this case, it turned into... you.” 

Hugh suddenly feels cold all over. 

“And this means what?” 

“Well, the pod had the ability to communicate with the network. Somehow. And the network could in one way or another talk to it too. Or the Jahsepp could and they’re part of the network. I have no idea how. Do you? You were with May when you, when she... um, send you back. How did that work? On our end it just looked like the pod swallowed Tilly and then she was gone.” 

“Swallowed is, a good way of putting it,” Hugh says slowly. 

Hugh shudders. 

Of all his experiences in the network, his return is the one he tries the hardest not to think about. It had all been such a rush to get to the pod and get him out before the other Jahsepp decided to turn hostile again and eat him, and though he had managed a brief conversation with May she hadn’t been all that interested in talking before all but shoving him into the pod. And having it close around him, the darkness and brief nothingness that followed, so unlike the Federation’s transporters, had been terrifying all on its own. 

“Paul I have no more clue than you how that thing worked.” 

Paul nods slowly. 

“I see. I didn’t really expect you to. Hoped though. Well, it is possible that whatever means of communication it possessed has been... um, kept, when it was transformed into... you.” 

“So you’re staying because the network, the Jahsepp, May, created me, my body from that stuff, that I can what? Talk to it?” 

“Not stuff. Hugh that pod was made out of our world’s materials. But since we have no idea how the mode of communication happened; it is a possibility that yes you, ‘can talk to it’.” 

He tries to think, to grasp what Paul is saying, but his brain seems unable to move beyond, “What the hell does this make me?” 

“Hugh, I know this is a lot to saddle you with right now, but it is a-” 

“-path that needs investigating, I get it. I do, Paul. What do you need?” 

He can’t think, his feelings are pulling him in every direction and he can’t think straight. His skin feels too tight, his heart won’t stop racing and his mouth has begun to taste like metal and bile. He needs to get out, get away, to think, calm down, anything. 

“I would like access to your medical records, including the examinations doctor Pollard did after your resurrection.” 

Hugh automatically gets to his feet. 

“I’ll get them for you. And try to eat something,” he says, pointing to the tray, before he rushes out the door. 

* * *

“And lieutenant Fairfax is resting easily at long last. There was a near touch and go during the night, but it looks like she’s stabilized. If nothing further happens the next twelve hours or so, I’d say she’ll make it,” doctor Nia Hall concludes her rundown of the night’s events to Tracy. 

Hall’s blond, tightly curled hair is almost drooping this morning and her dark brown skin has a tone that speaks of fatigue and lack of sleep. But with the handover and briefing being complete Tracy can finally send her and the rest of the night crew off to their beds to get some much-needed rest. The only one of the day team that hasn’t shown yet is Hugh, but considering the previous day’s events she has been expecting him to run a little late. Though if he hasn’t shown in himself in the next ten minutes, she’ll have words with him. 

“Anything else?” she asks, more in formality than anything. Hall is nothing if not meticulous. 

“Not real-” Hall’s gaze shifts from Tracy to the door to the corridor behind her. “Except you may want to keep me on call, that doesn’t look good.” 

Tracy turns as Hall nods towards Hugh who’s just stepped through the door, heading straight for the office. The expression on his face is closed off, the same he wore for so long after returning, an expression that only recently had begun to soften and become more open. Certainly not the man from yesterday, who despite the severity of their situation and the danger they were in, had been radiant with happiness. 

Looks like that conversation with Stamets hadn’t gone well. Part of her wants to go find out if she should be kicking the commander’s ass next time she sees him. 

“Go talk to him,” Hall says as if she’s reading Tracy’s mind. 

Tracy shakes her head. 

“No, we have patients out here and you need to get to bed.” 

“Patients which the rest of the staff can handle. And if it’s an emergency they can shout for you. I know you; you worry about your friends, you worry about Culber.” 

“You’re right,” Tracy reluctantly admits. 

“Well, git then.” Hall gives her a slight push towards the office. “I’m off to bed.” 

Hall disppears out the door leaving Tracy standing in the middle of medbay on her own. Looking around everyone seems on top of things and she can’t find a good reason not to talk to Hugh. 

Inside the office she finds him with his hands planted on the desk, leaning over the computer, eyes intent of the screen. 

“What are you looking for?” she asks, mostly to get a conversation going. 

Hugh’s silence stretches so long that Tracy begins to wonder if he’s heard her at all, or if he’s simply not going to answer. 

“My medical file,” he says at long last. 

“Your me- Why?” 

Again a very long silence. 

“Paul needs it.” 

Tracy blinks. Of all the possible answers she could have thought might be the one this hadn’t even made it on the list. 

“Commander Stamets needs your medical file? Whatever for? He does know those things are personal, doesn't he?” 

Hugh pulls out a datacard from the computer, presumably containing the aforementioned file and looks. 

Over the course of her professional life Tracy has witnessed much, from the ordinary wounds and breaks a mortal body can suffer, various types of neurological damage brought on by any number of things. She’s been buried up to her elbows in blood and intestines trying to save lives and a couple of times she’s had patients collapse on their feet in front of her. If asked she would have said that there was nothing she hadn’t seen or experienced, in one form or another. But not once have she ever witnessed a person simply crumble before her eyes. 

Yet there is no other way to describe the way Hugh deflates and heavily drops into the chair behind him, his arms coming to rest on his knees, his shoulders and head drooping forward as he turns the datadisc over in his hands. 

“You know Paul is looking for an alternative to him as navigator?” Hugh asks, his voice low and heavy. 

“I think the whole ship knows by now. Our acting captain has to learn that unless he wants the whole ship to know how much trouble we’re in he shouldn’t discuss it in a medbay filled with patients and nosy, gossipy staff.” 

Usually that comment would have gained her a smile, no matter how wan, but this time Hugh doesn’t even look up at her. 

“But I can’t see what that could have to do with your medical file,” she goes on. 

Hugh runs one hand over his face. 

“Because he thinks I might be able to.” 

Tracy turns that over in her head a few times. 

“Why?” she asks. It makes no sense. 

Hugh finally looks up at her. 

“Oh because May remade my body out of a transporter pod that could talk to the network.” 

“That’s absurd.” 

“Is it? Is it any more absurd that a murder victim coming back from the dead, walking among humans, interacting with them, living his life as if nothing happened? As if he didn’t die?” Hugh says his voice turning more brittle with every word. 

There’s nothing she can say to that. She wants to reach out a touch him, put a hand on his shoulder, but Hugh looks like any touch might make him shatter and she isn’t sure if either of them would be able to pick up the pieces. 

“So he wants your medical file for what? Check for new language skill to talk to mushrooms?” 

That doesn’t get her a laugh, a high pitched and shaky one. 

“I’m not sure Paul knows what he’s looking for,” he says. “I’m not sure what I would look for in his shoes.” 

“Well changes to the language center would be a place to start,” Tracy muses, unable to not go into research mode. That how part of her mind has always worked when presented with a difficult question. “When I checked you your brain scans did return well within normal deviation for a human so I didn’t dig any deeper. You looked like, well, you.” 

Hugh nods, looking at her with an understanding in his eyes. 

“What else would you check?” he asks. “You are the neurologist of the two of us.” 

“Yes but people returning from the dead and the development of hypothetical language skills as a result, that likely has nothing to do with any language known to humans, is hardly my field of expertise. Or anyone's. If anything it should be yours. You know more about what went on inside Stamets’ brain after he injected himself with the tardigrade DNA than anyone else. You were the one to monitor him and observe the changes.” 

“I’m not sure our situations are comparable.” 

“Maybe not, but we would have to start somewhere.” 

“We?” 

“Yes, we,” Tracy confirms, realizing herself that she has committed to this case of madness. Wherever it may lead. “You think I’m going to let you do this alone? Stamets isn’t a doctor, not a medical one, would he even know what to look for in your file? Or is he just groping in the dark, hoping he stumbles over something? He’s going to need professional medical opinions and skills.” 

Hugh concedes her point with a slight incline of his head. 

“So you suggest we try to find something?” he asks. 

Tracy takes a moment to consider. 

While she knows the issue will not go away until Stamets has found an answer one way or the other she can’t ignore the haunted look in Hugh’s eyes. He’s been through so much already and she doesn’t want to add to it. Silently she curses Stamets for even bringing this up to Hugh on though it seemed to be nothing more than a spurious idea. 

“Do you want this?” she asks. 

Hugh pulls a grimace. 

“It doesn’t matter what I want, does it?” 

“Of course it does!” 

The look in his eye soften. 

“Does it?” he says gently. “If Paul is right, if I can do this, it’ll mean getting to Burnham that much faster. Possibly the difference between life and death. How can I not do it then?” 

That one is impossible to counter, but pushing Hugh through this even to save commander Burnham doesn't sit well with her. If this is even a thing. It all sounds like nonsense to her, perhaps he’s being put through all of this for nothing. And yet. 

“I see your point.” 

“But you don’t like it.” 

“I think it’s too much to ask.” 

“In general? Or just of me?” 

Tracy shifts uncomfortably. 

Hugh gets to his feet, goes to her and takes her hands. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“For what?” 

“For being on my side no matter what.” He leans down and gives her a peck on the cheek. “Now do you think we have the time to do a second set of scans of me?” 

A quick glance out in medbay reveals that all is still quiet. 

“Looks like it, but why?” 

“To see if anything has changed since my... return. It might give us a hint of an answer to Paul’s question.” 

Tracy nods. 

“Let me ask nurse Phillips if there’s anything that needs our attention. If not, I’m all yours.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again let me take this opportunity to thank every one of you who left a comment, you all keep me going <strike>even though I know my update rate is abysmal</strike>.


	5. Chapter 5

After the door closes behind Hugh, Paul simply sits and stares at it, unable to make himself move and his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth. 

He had never understood the term ‘sick at heart’, how it was possible for the human heart to hurt so much that it could make a person feel physically ill. But now he does. Every fiber in his body aches and his heart feels heavy in his chest. 

_ Why? Why __did __h__e have __to come up with this idea? Now of all times? How can he justify doing this to Hugh? How can he not __if it’s possible to save Michael _ _ ? _

For the first time in his life Paul wishes he could believe in a god, then he’d have someone to scream at about the unfairness of it all. 

He lets his head drop into his hands, dragging his fingers across his face. 

For how long he sits like that he isn’t sure, minutes, hours perhaps, but in the long run such intense despair cannot last. 

Taking a deep shuddering breath Paul straightens up and in doing so his gaze falls on the tray of food. He has no appetite at all but still decides to eat as much as he can, one less worry for Hugh – because the man will worry no matter how he might otherwise feel – Paul has caused him enough already. 

Forcing down bite after bite he sits and tries make himself think. 

_ Will there be any meaningful commonalities between Hugh’s medical readings and his own that’ll let him have a clue to whether or not he’s right? If not, what then? How else can he check if his hypothesis is correct or not? What __other __path can he take? __Is he on a wild goose chase? Did he distress Hugh for nothing? What if they never find out, one way or the other? _

His thoughts keep churning but going nowhere, chasing their own tail. Distracted he reaches for the glass of juice but knocks it over instead. 

_ Dammit, damn it all to hell. _

Snarling he gets to his feet to fetch something to mop it up with, a pool of juice spilling over the table and down onto the floor. 

* * *

The scanner beeps softly as it finishes its job, the loud hum of electronics fading fast as it comes to a halt. 

Hugh sighs silently where he lays on the diagnostics bed, continuing to keep his eyes closed for a moment as if doing so will keep reality from intruding indefinitely. He can hear Tracy move about beside the bed, the soft click of her stylus against the datapadd screen. 

With another sigh he opens his eyes. No amount of pretense will help, all he can do is move forward, face the world and the truth, and deal with whatever comes. 

Heavily he pushes himself upright and swings his legs off the bed. 

Tracy is engrossed in reading and Hugh steps up behind her, putting his hands on her upper arms and looks over her shoulder. 

“Find anything interesting?” he asks. 

She playfully elbows him in the midriff and he lets out a playfully loud ‘oof’. 

“It only just finished, give me a chance, will you?” 

She slowly flips through the scan images. 

“Why don’t you grab your own padd and stop reading over my shoulder?” she goes on. 

Reluctantly he lets go of her and steps over to the table to pick up another padd. 

It’s hard to explain for him, how bereft the loss of touch makes him feel. Just when he had returned he couldn’t stand it. Everything had felt so strange, touch had only made him feel more alienated, all he had wanted was to be left alone. But he has always been a physically affectionate man and as he had begun to acclimate, he also began to revert to form. Now it is something common to him again, touching, seeking contact, and something comforting. A comfort he feels very much in need of right now. 

But Tracy is absorbed in reading so Hugh turns on his own padd and accesses the scan data. 

What he finds shakes him, though perhaps in retrospect it should not. While nothing shows itself to fall notably outside the norm for human variance the changes are too many and too present to be dismissed out of hand. There is no part of his brain that is unaffected- Frontal, parietal, occipital and temporal lobe, all undergone significant changes in the areas pertaining not just to language but to spacial perception and sensory processing too. 

Hugh calls up his last medical examination prior to his death for comparison, which only serves to make the changes stand out all the more clearly. 

Fighting to keep his hands steady he looks up from the padd and finds Tracy looking back at him. 

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he asks. 

“If you mean the changes, then yes.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I feel I should have caught this in the set of first scans.” 

Hugh lays down his padd and puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“Tracy, look at the first ones. Yes, there were differences but they’re small and could have meant anything. There was no reason to cry alarm.” 

_ And you were __relieved __enough to just have me back, weren’t you? _

He doesn’t say the last part, knows that for all that it’s the truth it would only hurt her. Perhaps because it is the truth. 

“But the differences are far more present now,” Tracy continues, like a dog with a bone, not quite shrugging off his comforting words but not accepting them either. 

“True. And in your expert neurological opinion, what do they mean?” 

“Looking at them with Commander Stamet’s theory in mind-” 

“No,” Hugh cuts her off. “Forget Paul’s idea for a moment. Forget everything I told you. Look at this as a neurologist, laying aside any preconceptions, what do you see?” 

“Changes in language skills and processing which... forgetting about Stamets I have no idea what could mean but clearly something is happening there. There’s a change in the neural pathways I’ve never seen before. The changes to spacial perception and sensory processing are.... unusual to say something. Not quite sure what to make of them either. Have you had any sensory issues since your return?” 

“Yes?” Hugh cautiously admits. 

She looks up from her padd, frowning. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” she asks. 

He shrugs, it feels to complicated to explain. The hope that it was all just a temporary thing, acclimating to being in a mortal body again, being back in the physical world, being alive again. Then slowly acclimating to them until it was just background noise, part of his new normal. 

“It didn’t feel that important.” 

Her look changes to ‘please’. 

“Doctors really are the worst at taking care of themselves, aren’t they?” she says. 

“Well, you should know.” 

“Less about me, more about your results. Where does this leave us?” 

“With the very real likelihood that Paul is right.” 

“Much as I hate to admit it, it looks like he might be. Next step?” 

“I think this is where we take this to Paul. He needs to see this, hear your conclusions and then we need to find out some way of testing if it is correct.” Hugh taps his finger against the edge of his padd. “Can you spare me for say fifteen minutes? I promised to drop my file off at Paul’s straight away and with the scans added I’m kinda overdue.” 

“If you plan to go over the results with him it’ll take more than fifteen minutes. Take the time you need to do this properly; I do not want things to be half assed just because you’re torn between duties. I’ll page you if you’re needed here.” 

He puts his arm around her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. 

“Thank you. But I promise not to be gone longer than I have to.” 

* * *

Though he has mopped up the juice and finished off his meal, Paul’s bad mood is still very much lingering when the door buzzer sounds. 

“Enter!” he barks out. 

Hugh steps through the door, two data cards in his hand, and Paul feels himself deflate. 

“Hugh I-” 

Hugh holds up the cards cutting him off. 

“My medical file as you requested. And a new set of scans of me doctor Pollard and I just conducted. I would like to go over what we found with you.” 

The detached, professional tone and demeanor Hugh has feels like a slap in the face, but Paul takes a deep breath. If this is what Hugh needs to get through this then Paul can give him that. 

“Very well. Um, sit down?” 

Paul gestures to the table, pulling out one of the chairs, trying to keep things formal. 

Hugh sits and puts down one of the data cards while putting the other in a padd. 

“The first one,” he nods to the card on the table. “Is my medical file. The data prior to my death shows little of interests unless you want my medical history for comparison. The scans doctor Pollard took right after my resurrection shows some differences but nothing that would have made anyone take note. The scans we just took though, are interesting.” 

Hugh puts the padd down at the table between them. 

“If you look at these pictures you can see notable changes to all parts of the cerebrum, more notably the parts that involves languages skills and sensory processing.” 

“I see,” Paul says, in part to say something. 

“Do you? What does this mean to you?” 

“In truth, I’m not sure. It indicates that in being recreated by the mycelia transporter pod your body and your brain was altered in some ways, but what those changes mean? I’m less certain of that.” 

“One more thing. There are some changes to spacial perception and since I returned, I’ve been having issues with my sense and in relating to the world around me. In... navigating it. It’s hard for me to put into words, but the way the world... feels to me, looks to me, sounds to me, is different from what it was.” 

Paul nods trying to take all Hugh says in. 

“That can’t have been easy,” he offers, wanting Hugh to know that he’s not without empathy for his situation. 

“That’s not the issue here. The issue is whether or not this means you’re right or not.” 

“Yes. Yes, of course.” 

_ Professional, just stay professional __dammit. _

“Um, have you compared your scans with mine?” Paul asks. 

“Not directly, but I recall them well enough to know they’re not very similar. You have more distortion to the areas related to time perception where you’ll find no similar alterations in mine. Whatever these differences mean they are not one to one correspondence. There’s no telling from this whether or not I can actually communicate with the network, much less navigate the spore drive.” 

“Then I think the next step would be to make some sort of test to see if you can indeed communicate with the network. If that doesn't work there’s no reason to try to have you work as navigator.” 

Hugh nods slowly. 

“How though? I assume you don’t intend to simply stick me in the navigator chair.” 

Paul feels his heart leap in his chest. 

“No!” 

The vehemence of his word makes Hugh raise one eyebrow. 

“No,” Paul repeats more softly. “That would be... risky.” 

“In what way?” Hugh asks, tilting his head to one side. 

Paul shifts on his chair. 

“You remember the first time I entered the network?” 

“Hard to forget,” Hugh answers drily. 

“It was beautiful like I told you, but also... overwhelming. I nearly lost myself for time.” He looks down at the tabletop. “Nearly completely.” 

“You never told me that,” Hugh says softly. 

“I didn’t want to worry you any more than were over something that was no longer an issue. I _ did _ get hold of myself again. Remembered who I was, where I was.” He looks up. “Because I remembered you.” 

Hugh looks surprised and his lips form an ‘oh’ before he perplexed looks away. 

“Um, since hooking me up to the drive is out how else do you suggest we test this?” he asks, his words a rush. 

“I’m not sure,” Paul confess. “I’ll have to think about it. I haven’t been able to come up with a good idea for testing yet. I wasn’t even all that convinced I was right about this. I just... couldn’t ignore it once I thought of it.” 

He winches internally at how cold and callous that sounds, but there is no gentle way of putting it. 

“I understand,” Hugh says softly. “If there’s nothing else you need from me right now?” 

“No. No I think I got the basics. If there is anything else, I can call you.” 

Paul longs to reach out and touch him, offer him comfort, but Hugh’s cl 

Hugh nods and stands up. 

“Then I need to get back to my post. I’ll be by later with dinner,” he says. 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“You need to eat Paul.” 

“I meant; you could get someone else to do it. So you don’t have to see me.” 

A pained grimace passes across Hugh’s face. 

“Why would I not want to do that?” 

Because you’re acting so cold. 

“I just thought that with... everything, having some distance to all of this might help you, including me. That it might be easier for you.” 

“Paul, if I wanted easy I wouldn’t be in Starfleet” 

“But this is something different.” 

“Is it? Paul right now... nothing is easy. I have duties I need to see to but... I’m human and I want to remember that. And I have a human’s need for contact and companionship.” 

_ You could get that from others. _

Paul doesn’t say the words out loud, the last thing he wants to is drive Hugh away. 

What he does say is, “I didn’t mean you couldn’t come or that I don’t want you here. I just wanted you to know that if you need space from me you should take it.” 

“I don’t,” Hugh says firmly. 

“What do you need? Right now.” 

“I-” 

Hugh’s voice breaks and for a split second he stands undecided before he stumbles forward, grabs hold of Paul’s hand and pulls him into his arms. 

Paul gently wraps his arms around Hugh, standing very still as Hugh hugs him fiercely and burieshis face at Paul’s neck. He doesn’t say anything as he holds him, there’s nothing he can say, and when Hugh lets go and steps back, he releases his grip. 

There are tears at the corners of Hugh’s eyes and before he realizes what he’s doing Paul has raised a hand to wipe them away. Hugh easily closes his eyes and lets Paul do it. 

When Paul lowers his hand, he slowly opens them again, a soft expression on his face. 

“I really do have to get back to my post,” Hugh says, his voice soft and warm. “But I will be back later with dinner. Because I want to have dinner with you.” 

Paul nods. 

“I’ll see you then,” he says, trying and not quite succeeding in smiling. “And Hugh,” Paul calls just as Hugh steps out the door. “I- I never did alter the access protocol so you don’t have to ring when you arrive. You can just... come on in.” 

Hugh smiles, looking soft and fragile, and nods. 

“I’ll do that then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, quicker than before. But with Culmets Week coming up in a month my creative energies may be focused on that, so I'll make no promises about how fast you'll get the next one after this.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who commented, I love you all so much <3


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